Like ballerinas, her fingers danced across the keys.
There was music in the grace her movements capture.
Though I hear not, my eyes behold the delicate rapture.
Her hands sway as if soft flowers in the breeze.
Her eyes close as she hears the melody she makes.
In the rhapsody of her music she is carried away.
Transfixed by her graceful movements I can only gaze.
My eyes drink in every nuance her body makes.
Others hear the beauty of the melodic sound.
The music transports them to another place.
They can hear, but do not see the beauty of her face.
I alone can see her amidst the grace that she abounds.
Like ballerinas, her fingers dance with every measure.
Like a captured soul, my eyes drink in the lovely treasure.
I am captured and my eyes drink in the lovely treasure.
Hi, I don't know how else to contact you. Mr. Bryson, I would love it if we could talk through email. I wanted to ask a you a question.
Gary, a wonderful line, '... Music in the grace of her movements.' I think poetry has a similar effect... like music produced from the stroke of a pen, you can't hear it... but it's there. Great write! ! Brian
An exceptional poem, How well you have captured the soul of this delicate and beautiful woman. Warm regards, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I would love to take the poem and write a song but i need permission not sure how to go about doing that here. Unless it's public domain but the years don't seem to fit with that.